


Downwards

by followthattardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sexual Content, why do I keep writing angsty porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followthattardis/pseuds/followthattardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is about my falling, isn’t it? You don’t think I should engage in human activities that so blatantly go against what I used to be.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downwards

**Author's Note:**

> This fic presupposes that Cas is human and Dean doesn't have the Mark.
> 
> Basically, Dean tries to fuck while Cas tries to make love and they have to meet in the middle.

It’s after several weeks of tentative, exploratory sex that the barrel of gunpowder they’re both sitting on finally goes off.

Castiel is the one who unwittingly sets it on fire.

They’re in Dean’s bedroom, the door charitably closed for Sam’s sake. The only source of light is a nightstand lamp throwing swaying shadows on the walls. Dean squirms on the mattress, his breathing growing erratic as Castiel’s lips trail up his inner thighs, lavishing them with little pecks and nips and occasionally gentle bites. Admittedly, having Cas’s mouth on him is nothing new; ever since Dean finally snapped and planted a big one on him, they haven’t exactly been keeping their hands to themselves. What _is_ new, however, is Dean finding himself on the receiving end of attentions focused solely on getting him off. Despite their rather active sex life in the course of the last two weeks, it was mostly Dean doing the giving. And not because Cas didn’t want to reciprocate – simply because Dean didn’t let him. As eager as Castiel was to please, he was rarely given a proper chance to do it. It was so subtle and inconspicuous that he didn’t even notice at first. Dean would corner him in the kitchen, drop to his knees and go down on him like there was no tomorrow, but before Cas came down from his high and could even think about returning the favour, he felt the press of Dean’s erection rutting against his calf and that was it. And Dean would smile up at him afterwards, playfully poking his thigh with his nose, and explain that the sounds he wrung out of Cas and Cas’s hand tugging at his hair were practically enough to get him off anyway. When they made love, Dean would keep Cas close to himself, arms locked tightly around his neck or shoulders, reluctant to let him go and effectively limiting the expanse of skin Cas’s mouth could reach to his face and neck. Even when Castiel spontaneously pressed him against a wall and slid down his body with a very obvious intention of blowing him, Dean would always drag him back up and latch onto his lips, kissing him with such force and desperation Castiel had no choice but to just use his hand to jerk him off, unwilling and unable to break the seal of their lips.

That was the state of things between them until yesterday, when Castiel’s patience finally wore off. He caught Dean in the laundry room and strode up to him purposefully, spinning him around so that they faced each other. Soon, kissing turned into grinding turned into fumbling with each other’s zippers. Predictably enough, the moment Castiel lowered himself to brush his lips over Dean’s arousal, a firm hand hauled him up into a fervent kiss. And here’s when things changed, because after a few seconds Cas leaned away and sank back down before Dean. He only had time to mouth at the tip before Dean’s hand clasped around his bicep again, ready to pull him up.

Dean Winchester is awfully stubborn, but Lord knows Castiel can be adamant too. He couldn’t be deterred, no matter how desperately Dean tried to distract him. His movements were slow, deliberate, and loving as his hands pinned Dean’s hips against the nearest wall and kept him there through it all, until Dean came with a throaty shout and Castiel’s name on his lips.

That, Dean thinks, is what lost him. That broken, shameful sound. It lead him where he is now, laid bare and exposed and fidgeting under Cas’s gaze.

Truth be told, he doesn’t really know why it makes him so anxious. It’s not like it feels bad; on the contrary, it’s ecstatic. Castiel’s every touch shoots up lightning through his nerve endings and makes his vision go white. Part of Dean wants nothing more than to surrender to those touches, but something unnamed and too significant to ignore keeps holding him back.

It would all be fine and well, though, and Dean would gradually come to accept the unfamiliar position of having his own pleasure in the limelight, if only Cas could stop himself from taking it one step further. But Castiel is Castiel, oblivious or perhaps simply indifferent to the taboo, and he easily crosses to the unchartered territory. He dips his head lower, tracing a wet stripe down Dean’s perineum all the way down until the tip of his tongue catches on the rim.

Dean wants to do a bunch of things simultaneously. He wants to sink his fingers into Cas’s hair and hold on to it for dear life; he wants to shove Cas away; he wants to cover his eyes to avoid looking at the man nestled in the V of his thighs; he wants to grab the headboard as hard as he can and howl until his throat is raw. It’s too much, and Dean jolts up like a man electrocuted, arching off the bed and away from Cas’s warm lips.

“Stop,” he gasps out, weakly trying to wiggle himself out of Cas’s hold.

Castiel obliges immediately, apprehension flashing across his face as he gently strokes the outsides of Dean’s thighs.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like it?”

Dean’s cheeks flush bright red, an unmistakable sign of shame and embarrassment creeping up his skin. He looks down at Cas, at his soft, pink lips, and flounders frantically for a way to phrase all the reasons why that mouth shouldn’t come anywhere near where it’s just been. The stare he receives in return is full of nothing but love and concern, and it makes everything worse.

Dean screws his eyes shut, mind whirring in a desperate attempt to understand why there is an angel between his legs so intent on making him feel good in all the dirty, human ways. He almost jumps up on the bed when a firm hand takes hold of his chin and tips it slightly, forcing him to open his eyes. Cas’s face hovers so close above him their noses brush with every exhale.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “I thought you were enjoying it. I know you were. What happened?”

That is a very good question, Dean must admit. He’s never been one to shy away from experiments in the bedroom, living by the rule that a hunter’s life is too short to deny himself any carnal pleasures, be it in the form of greasy junk food or unconventional sex. So why can’t he just lie back and enjoy it?

The answer is, he realizes with sudden clarity, because the person offering him that shameful pleasure happens to be the angel of the Lord that Dean had single-handedly corrupted all those years ago. Castiel has already lost his wings, his sense of purpose, his family, and Dean will be damned if he lets him fall any further – and he’ll be damned very, very literally.

“I can hear you overthinking it,” Cas says, jarring Dean out of his thoughts. “Please let me do this for you.”

“No,” Dean whispers, and oh, how he hates himself in this moment, how he loathes the fact that despite his words every fiber of his being wants to yield to Castiel’s plea.

“Dean—”

“Just fuck me, Cas.”

Even before the words can make it out of his mouth, Dean knows uttering them is a terrible idea, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t want to think about how low he managed to drag a celestial being; he just needs some mindless sex. He half-expects Cas to get pissed at him, so the weary sigh heaved in response comes as a bit of a surprise.

“I won’t do anything until you tell me the real reason you recoiled.” As if to reinforce this resolution, Castiel lays an irritatingly chaste kiss to Dean’s temple, just below his hairline.

Dean stays silent, stupidly hoping that if he drags it out long enough, sooner or later Cas will give up.

It’s a pipe dream, of course. Castiel’s persistence is equal to none, and he takes his sweet time coaxing the confession out of Dean with measured, languid kisses laid all over, from the hollow of Dean’s throat to the corners of his eyes. Dean sighs inwardly, realizing he won’t be able to withstand such a perfectly-calculated onslaught of tenderness. Cas knows all his sensitive spots damn too well already, the bastard.

“You shouldn’t do such things,” he says at last, conceding his defeat. Cas stops mid-kiss and leans back to look at him, confusion making itself known in the creases on his forehead.

“Why?”

All Dean sees are sparks and lightening and useless weapons and shadows on the walls forming into something breath-taking and otherworldly.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. How the fuck is he supposed to explain that to Cas. _Listen, buddy, didn’t you use to have bigger ambitions than eating out faithless trash like me?_

Before he can find the right words – before he can even determine whether there are any – Cas shifts further back and blinks down at him, realization dawning on his face.

“This is about my falling, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice tinged with sadness and just the slightest note of disappointment.

“Um—”

“You don’t think I should engage in human activities that so blatantly go against what I used to be.”

And there they are. The words Dean has been fruitlessly looking for.

“Yes.”

Cas seems to consider this for a moment, eyes twinkling in a way Dean’s not sure bodes well for him.

“And if I were still an angel? Would it be acceptable then?”

“If you were still an angel you wouldn’t be here,” Dean mumbles almost inaudibly.

Hurt flashes across Castiel’s face like a bolt of lightning that cracks the sky open. Dean instantly feels a pang of guilt, but he still doesn’t understand what he did wrong. He’s convinced that what he said is true. That they both know it’s true.

“What do you think would happen if I got my wings and grace back tomorrow?” Cas asks, voice low and almost dangerous. “Do you think I would simply up and leave? Is that what you think?”

Castiel moves forward, hands poised on either side of Dean’s head and blue eyes boring into him with an intensity Dean thought he’d gotten used to many years ago. He knows Cas wouldn’t hurt him – it would take more than mind control, apparently, more than losing the loyalty and support of his brothers and sisters, more even than Dean turning into a demon – but for a moment he feels genuinely scared. He’s treading on thin ice, and he has personally given Castiel the power to crack the surface beneath his feet and drown him.

But he’s still Dean Winchester, and as reckless as ever.

“Wouldn’t you?” he challenges, with a bitterness that surprises even him.

There’s a beat, a split second when Dean expects Cas to throttle him with his own pillow. It’s gone in a blink of an eye, though, and Castiel rolls over and gets up from the bed. He picks up his discarded clothes and dresses haphazardly, back turned from Dean the whole time.

Meanwhile, Dean’s heart pounds furiously against his ribcage as the implications start to flood his mind.

 _Congratulations, you asshat. You’ve done it. You made him leave. Look, he’s leaving. And hey, you were right! It doesn’t matter if he’s human or not. He’d always leave in the end, like they all do, sooner or later_.

Castiel exits the room without looking back.

* * *

 

The next morning, Dean is more than surprised to find Cas standing in the kitchen, downing a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Thought you left,” he says, aiming for offhanded and missing by a mile. He strolls over to the coffeemaker and busies himself with preparing his daily dose of caffeine, careful not to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“This is where the problem lies, I believe.”

Dean grips his mug a bit harder than necessary and takes a long sip, waiting for Cas to continue.

Nothing comes.

The prolonged silence puts him on edge, and when after a few minutes it becomes too jarring, he finally turns around to face whatever he’s got coming.

Cas stands much closer than Dean expected, his stony expression and rigid posture reminiscent of a marble statue. It’s so impenetrable Dean doesn’t even try to guess what Cas might be thinking right now. He just stares back.

“You made me really angry yesterday,” Castiel says.

This is the right time to shut the fuck up and let Cas talk, but Dean is a huge idiot with self-destructive tendencies.

“Did I really?” he says mockingly. “How? By asking uncomfortable questions?”

“By casting unfounded accusations.”

Dean lets out a mirthless laugh that echoes around the kitchen. It sounds creepy and out of place even to him. He opens his mouth to quickly cover it up with something, anything, but the unformed words die on his lips when he sees the change in Castiel’s expression.

The ex-angel narrows his eyes into threatening slits that bear a striking semblance to what Dean has always referred to in his head as Castiel’s smiting gaze. He takes a step forward and Dean instantly takes a step back, his hips hitting the counter behind him.

“Do you really think so little of me? Of my loyalty?” Cas asks angrily, inching even closer and into Dean’s personal space. “Do you consider me someone who goes back on their promises?”

Dean swallows audibly, but doesn’t lower his gaze.

“Come on, Cas, let’s be real here. If you could strap your wings back on and return to Heaven, wouldn’t you?”

The response isn’t immediate, and a grim sense of satisfaction settles over Dean before he realizes Cas let go of his fighting stance, shoulders dropping and fists loosening at his sides.

“No, I would not,” he says slowly. “I told you I wished to stay here, and I meant it.” Each new word is uttered with an unfaltering gravity, as carefully and deliberately as the old Castiel used to speak in those first months before he had a chance to experience the subtleties of human interaction.

That sudden connection makes Dean’s palms sweat.

“I will not leave unless you explicitly tell me to,” Castiel continues. “I find it hurtful that you would suspect me of wanting to abandon you. I find it heart-breaking you are so quick to believe everybody will leave you. And I don’t know how to make you realize you are wrong.”

With the last sentence, the present-day Cas slips back, reverting to uncertainty. His body slumps visibly, the looming presence dwindling down to a man lost.

“I am out of my depth,” he admits with disarming honesty. He closes what little space there is between them and takes hold of Dean’s hands. “Being human for a while didn’t make it any less confusing for me. What do I do to convince you? Is there a gesture I am supposed to make? A declaration? I thought I did that already. I know my lack of experience in these matters annoys you, but you need to help me, Dean, because I don’t—”

The rest of the sentence gets swallowed down when Dean all but launches himself on Cas, tugging at the front of his shirt and muffling whatever words were supposed to come next.

After the initial surprise passes, Castiel manages to extract himself from Dean for long enough to say, breathless, “Are you deflecting?”

“No,” Dean says, out of breath himself. It’s a fair assumption for Cas to make, given Dean’s long history of dealing with things by simply ignoring them, but just this once, it’s wrong.

Dean is truly astonished by that.

“I’m not deflecting,” he says again, as if to see how it sits with him to face his feelings head-on for a change.

He looks at Cas, at his lightly-colored cheeks, slightly parted lips and worried eyes, and he feels utterly overwhelmed.

“Will you answer me then?”

Dean struggles to gather his thoughts, but his mind is still reeling. He knows one thing, though: Castiel has just laid himself completely bare before him, and the least Dean can do is try and return the favor.

“It’s hard for me, this kinda stuff,” he begins pathetically. “I just. I don’t—”

 _Motherfuck_ is this difficult.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he tries. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just, I don’t want to… I can’t—”

Dean feels like he’s drowning in all the things he can’t say, the words choking him as he unsuccessfully tries to identify them.

He makes a few more aborted attempts at articulating _something_ before Castiel finally takes pity on him. He frames Dean’s face with his hands and soothingly runs his fingers over Dean’s cheeks.

“You are remarkably bad at this,” he says.

Dean lets out a short, strained laugh.

“Yeah. I know.”

Castiel frowns in thought, his hands still resting warm and comforting on either side of Dean’s face.

“What if I asked you simple questions? Will you answer me those?”

Dean nods as vigorously as Castiel’s grip allows. Anything, anything to keep him.

Cas nods back and wets his lips a bit nervously.

“Will you promise to answer them with absolute honesty or not at all?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to live here?”

“Yes.”

“Indeterminately?”

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid I won’t?”

Dean hesitates a moment, but he knows he can’t lie even if he wanted to. It’s simply not on the menu for today.

“Yes,” he admits.

“Were you listening when I said, not more than a few minutes ago, that I will stay as long as you want me here?”

Dean’s heart starts drumming out a frantic beat in his chest.

“Yes.”

“Did you believe me?”

Dean stays silent for a long time. He was asked to be sincere, so he’s not planning on answering that question.

“Did you know you’re insufferable?”

Surprise flashes across Dean’s face, but he decides to play along.

“Yes.”

Slowly, Castiel moves forward and backs Dean against the counter again. It doesn’t feel threatening this time, though.

“Will you, Dean Winchester, please accept the fact that I am very much enamored with you?”

Dean’s jaw drops.

He—

He didn’t.

Neither of them has ever said that before. They didn’t have the “I love you” talk, they just kissed for about a million years and fell into bed together like they were both starving for it, which they were.

Dean feels like Cas has just dropped a fucking piano on his head.

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice seems to come from very, very far away.

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Is your answer to that question yes?”

“Yes.”

Castiel smiles for the first time this morning. His left hand drops to rest on Dean’s waist.

“If that is the case, will you please let me love you in all the ways I want to?”

Dean is frozen completely still, yet for some reason his lungs struggle to keep up with his ragged breathing.

“And will you believe that I’ll stay, always?” Cas adds, almost like an afterthought.

All Dean can do is nod and yield as Cas’s lips close over his, effectively ending their game.

 

* * *

 

He still grapples with the discordance between the nature of what Castiel used to be and the profanity he’s so willing to commit. It’s no less difficult, no less guilt-inducing for Dean to watch Cas slowly make his way down his body, knowing exactly what his final destination is and how far off his celestial path he’s gone.

Dean’s breathing comes in shallow gasps, anticipation rippling through his body in waves. He’s nervous, excited, ashamed, giddy with desire and mortified all at the same time, the sensations pulling him in different directions until he’s sure they’ll tear him apart.

The sudden loss of Castiel’s lips and hands on him is the only warning Dean gets before he opens his eyes to find a pair of stormy-blue ones two inches away from his own. They are blown wide, but anxious.

“I’m fine,” Dean says, preempting Cas’s question. He wonders if he’s really that transparent – he didn’t do anything, didn’t say a word, yet Cas stopped and went back up to check on him. Dean feels pathetic.

Castiel sighs.

“We don’t have to,” he says.

Dean blinks up at him.

“You’re clearly still uncomfortable with this. I’m sorry I pushed.” With that, Cas moves on to kiss Dean’s neck like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Is he really conceding so easily, so—

_Will you, Dean Winchester, please accept the fact…._

“Cas,” Dean whispers, craning his neck so that Castiel has to move away for a moment. “Why is this so important to you?”

For a moment Cas is completely silent, mindlessly tracing Dean’s tattoo with his fingertips.

“I want…” he begins, then hesitates. He stares into the space somewhere behind Dean’s left ear. “I want to love you like a human.”

He splays his palm on Dean’s chest in an innocent gesture clearly meant for comfort. Whose comfort, Dean doesn’t know.

“I… I did this in a very angelic way until now,” Cas continues, speaking more to himself than Dean. “I rebelled for you. I watched over you when you slept and when you didn’t. I answered your prayers.” He pauses for a second. “I want to do this again, but your way. The human way.” He tentatively rocks his hips against Dean’s, eliciting a small gasp. “I want to love you in all the possible ways a human can love another human. So, to answer your question: that is why it’s so important to me.”

When he focuses his gaze back on Dean, an unexpected smile blooms on his face. “Besides, a wise man once told me: iniquity is one of the perks.”

Everything is a bit of a blur after that. Dean flips Cas on his back, showering his chest and neck with hungry kisses, leaving not-so-subtle bite marks and hickeys in his wake, only to have Cas flip him back again and press him down onto the bed with all his weight. Dean’s defenses fall one after another as Cas finally, _finally_ gets to explore his body in as much detail as he wants to, every single inch of the man he once rebuilt.

And sure enough, they end up there after all. After two aborted attempts, they find themselves in the exact same position as the day before, except now Dean lets himself have this. With his legs hooked over Cas’s shoulders and trembling already, he looks down at the familiar, dark head and thinks: _I don’t deserve this_ , and: _I want this_ , and: _God I love him_.

Cas noses at the crease between Dean’s thigh and groin, and smiles. And then, he purses his lips and blows lightly over Dean’s entrance.

“ _Oh_.”

Cas sends him a stare that could probably set water on fire, grips Dean’s hipbones with both hands, and presses his tongue against Dean’s hole.

Dean lets out a strangled noise, hands scrambling helplessly for purchase. His hips buck up jerkily, but Cas keeps them steady with ease.

It only takes several experimental licks along the rim for Dean to get all light-headed; a few more confident ones to make him curse; a tentative dive-in to make him lose his head and cry out Cas’s name. By the time Cas gets to it properly, Dean is delirious.

Somewhere in the back of his head he still remembers that this is supposed to be impure and sacrilegious, but those thoughts are banished to a faraway corner of his mind, drowned out by the realization of how much he actually wants this. Any inhibitions he’s had evaporate one by one, and instead of feeling shame he starts to marvel at the intimacy of the act, the utter trust it involves on both sides. Cas licks and kisses and swirls his tongue until Dean is so overwhelmed he's practically sobbing. And just when he thinks he can’t take any more of this, Cas’s left hand leaves his hip to brush over his cock, almost distractedly, and Dean comes all over himself with a loud _Fuck, Cas!_

As Dean’s breathing slowly evens out, Castiel cleans him up, then crawls up the bed and slots their bodies together.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Cas quips, flinging his arm across Dean’s waist and nuzzling close.

“If this was you doing it for the first time, the next might very well kill me,” Dean murmurs.

Cas cranes his head to look at him.

“So there will be a next time?”

“Hell yes. But two important things first. One: I’m gonna take care of that.” Dean gently nudges his knee against Cas’s neglected arousal. “Two: I’ll try, Cas.”

“You’ll try what?”

Dean inhales deeply, stroking his fingers along Cas’s outstretched arm.

“What we talked about earlier… I’ll try to believe you. I suck at this, but I swear I’ll try.”

Promising to welcome somebody into his life without expecting them to leave is probably one of the most romantic things Dean Winchester has ever done.

Castiel knows this, and it makes him cling to Dean that much tighter in a silent thank-you.


End file.
